


Boom

by caseykaboom



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Deconditioning, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caseykaboom/pseuds/caseykaboom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are silent around each other, mostly, and he vaguely thinks this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. Unless it is? He has no idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boom

**Author's Note:**

> CW: reference to sexual conditioning

They are silent around each other, mostly, and he vaguely thinks _this isn’t how it’s supposed to go_. Unless it is? He has no idea.

Just. He doesn’t know.

He thinks maybe he – the blond, the Captain, _Steve_ – fought for this. So instead of being strapped down on something that faintly hums, he spends nights after Psych Eval in an apartment with actual literal windows, a shared kitchen and living room, pillows so soft it’s surreal.

(And he’s there the entire time, waits through his Medical appointments in the lobby with his head down, memorizes the specs of his arm, sits with him on the couch or at the kitchen table while he loses hours at a time, the sky turning grey when he’s not noticing, a spoon half way to his mouth)

He gets out of the bath and drips the entire way to the living room, his headache tender and his bruises fresh, and Steve _(Steve)_ wraps a bathrobe around him and presses a towel to the ends of his hair. He opens his mouth and, well, there are lots of things he wants to ask actually, things like _what’s on that screen you stare at all the time_ and _Christ what’s with all the lights everywhere_ and _okay now there’s no way you can cook food like that, you can boil a potato maybe, I see right through you, so where the hell does all this food come from?_ Except he doesn’t, because he could hardly glance at him, and he – _Steve_ – even when he stares he’s avoiding his eyes, even when he smiles he is wistful, even when his lips tremble he is silent.

 _This isn’t how it’s supposed to go,_ he thinks, he just, he doesn’t know, something glints at the edge of his vision and he turns to look and it’s nothing, he’s sure it was something? And slowly (so slowly) he realizes that it’s the sun, it’s sunlight streaming through the window, and the cynical part of him smirks and says _congratu-fucking-lations, when was the last time you noticed sunlight streaming through the window?_

He turns his head back (how long did he lose this time? His hair is dry and frizzled) and sees him there, just overwhelmingly _there_ , towel in one hand and eyes downcast. He is at peace, he thinks, his breath slow and rhythmic, his stance relaxed, as if there is nothing better than to spend an afternoon standing, just standing, in a room with someone that doesn’t even know who he is, silent, always silent.

He hesitates, because vaguely he thinks he shouldn’t but he _wants_.

He touches a hand to his chest.

He’s not even surprised, just looks up at him ( _finally_ , fucking _finally_ he looks at him), his eyes moving to take in his eyes, one and the other, lips curving as if indulging a child, and suddenly he can’t breathe. He watches him close his lips, softly, inhaling, and he closes his eyes and waits for the _B_ to explode and annihilate him, again.

“Bucky,” he sighs, and his world goes _boom_.

He shoves at him, because he can’t anymore, with this, just, his chest is tight and his heart is jackhammering, he’s about to burst into tears and _when was the last time you burst into tears?_ And Steve, yeah, that gets him surprised all right, he takes a step back, and another, and before he can think of questioning him _(when did he ever question you, you dick)_ he hits the couch and falls into it, his eyes wide and his legs open, and –

He drops to his knees like a brick.

Distantly he registers a high-pitched whine, possibly coming from his own throat, as parts of him chants _fight it fight it fight it_ and _give in give in give in_ , as the cynical part of him sing-songs _I told you so_ , as he detaches and watches himself, hopeful and hopeless, desperate and cold, all he wants and the last thing he wants is to unbuckle Steve’s belt and shove his cock in his mouth, and distantly he registers Steve pulling his hair sharply, it hurts or should hurt but it comforts instead, he can feel himself slipping, it’s cold, it’s warm and sticky, it’s wet it’s suffocating, he can’t reach him, who is he kidding he’s dead, he killed him he didn’t kill him he made it he didn’t make it –

Distantly he registers Steve slipping down the couch

Distantly he registers Steve crushing his mouth against his

Distantly he registers Steve

Steve’s mouth on his

His hands on his jaw

Crushing his jaw

His jaw

Which exists

 

He shoves at Steve weakly, both of their faces dripping, and he doesn’t budge, of course he doesn’t budge, guy has never budged ever. As punishment and reward he twists his head and vomits in his lap.

“Steve,” he croaks, between sobs and dry heaves.

“I’m here,” he says, his hand rubbing circles on his back, “I’m right here.”

He realizes (slowly, always so slowly) that maybe he’s been waiting. That maybe he makes _his_ world go _boom_ , too.


End file.
